tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18147128407186363902024-03-13T09:13:51.835-07:00Subdued IntrinsicAmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.comBlogger146125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-65149706856856364812019-10-25T18:58:00.003-07:002019-10-25T18:58:43.470-07:00How Did Almost Two Years Go By?Serious question, guys. Like, don't I remember writing a blog a few months ago? Didn't I?<br />
<br />
Life is weird.<br />
<br />
Did you know I got a new job? Yup. I works as a Records Coordinator for a local university, and I love it there. Regular hours, amazing co-workers, great bosses, etc. It's been about 17 months, and still awesome.<br />
<br />
I've reconnected pretty steadily (yay, Skype!) with a best cousin, and talking to her helps a lot with my stress/anxiety. She says it's good for her, too (yay, symbiosis!).<br />
<br />
About this time last year, I dusted off Ye Olde Manuscript, and gave 'er a good polishing, and now I've picked up working on the sequel. It take a lot of emotional energy, but ver, very gradually, I am getting back into writing--never mind that my brain almost short-circuits at the idea of submitting anything to agents. I also have the bones of a really cool book series about whom I'm called The Tragedy Trio . . . because nothing goes smoothly for those three. Their names are Ilen, Sparrow, and Thorn. Also, a flashy, dense book about a princess who isn't what people think she is, and her motley crew who get her where she needs to be . . . but that one is more upper middle grade. Still the language in it is lushly stylized, and I kind of love the book for it.<br />
<br />
Husband, sons, cats, and bearded dragon are all well, thanks for asking! (You would not believe the growth ratio for all the male freaks of nature. Only Ava the dragon and I, females that we are, are stable in our size.) I'm still struggling with psychological problems, but it's pretty okay at the moment.<br />
<br />
It's possible I've written this post so I could say I did (BABY STEPS, Y'ALL), or so I can hawk my wares so to speak, to wit:<br />
<br />
The following will take you to my Wattpad, where you can read the newly titled, <i>From the Stars, to the Stars</i> all in one gulp, or bite by bite, as you prefer. And for a writer's sake, please COMMENT. Good and BAD things. It all helps. Your comments are basically Writer Kibble, and I am a Starvin' Marvin.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/AmethystAdams">https://www.wattpad.com/user/AmethystAdams</a> Seriously. For reelz. Please.<br />
<br />
Random Fact: I love bananas, but HEAVILY DISLIKE 99 percent of banana-flavored things. Same with chocolate.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-5376106496250540702017-12-22T13:56:00.002-08:002017-12-22T13:56:58.413-08:00Of What Am I Afraid?Lately (and by lately, I actually mean a few years), I have found myself not only terrified of writing, but too scattered to even attempt it. This is not to say the feeling has gone away. It's just as bad, but a friend of mine asked me a question yesterday, gave me a piece of advice, and made me a promise.<br />
<br />
Question: These ideas you have, do you write them down? Make notes?<br />
<br />
Answer: Well, yeah, I do, but they aren't linear. I'm not sure how much good they do. It's not like they make sense as puzzle pieces that fit together. They're just cool snapshots of things that happen in the story. I do love the little darlings, though.<br />
<br />
Advice: Then just keep doing that for now. Write down everything you think of until it all makes sense.<br />
<br />
The Promise: If you die in some tragic accident before you get published, I will take all your notes and hire a ghostwriter for you, and get you published posthumously.<br />
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That, my peeps, is a friend.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-10489316549310279882017-11-17T10:46:00.002-08:002017-11-17T10:46:28.742-08:00Pantser . . . . Maybe Not Proud of It, But It Works for MeAs you can probably tell by the title, when it comes to plotting, I am what's known as a 'pantser'. Taken from the phrase, "flying by the seat of my pants," pantsers generally don't plan their stories in a linear manner. We struggle to summarize properly, and you're likely to see from us more of a bubbled web chart (like an investigation wall), than a nice, organized outline. Outlines hurt our brains, and likely our dry-erase boards.<br />
<br />
This isn't to say we don't organize in our own way, but it's a bit more like trying to find a place to sign your name in someone's yearbook. Is there a blank space? Yes. okay, sign there. Does your comment having any reference to another signature, but there's no space next to that one? Sign your name elsewhere, and then draw a long, winding arrow between the two, for direction. It's a causality kind of thing. You link together like items as best you can, when you see the link in your head, but you have to record it on paper.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-13844054765284442172017-11-13T06:14:00.003-08:002017-11-13T06:14:47.192-08:00But everybody else is doing it . . . . . As you may or may not know, I have bouts of extreme depression and anxiety. Many authors do, I think. I'm not implying that you have to have a mental illness to be a writer (though there are The Jokes), but I do personally believe there might be a correlation between creatively-brained people and mental illness.<br />
<br />
At any rate, I've got it, a mental illness issue.Those come with medication issues. You know how people are always talking about, "getting the right meds cocktail,? That's a real thing, a concerning thing, and it's a toughie. Mine has been, and it's not even fully fixed, yet.<br />
<br />
As an author, this means I usually feel one of four things, depending on the effects/side effects of my current meds regime.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><b>Apathy</b>. Everything is boring, and nothing really matters. I am the trail-off of a really good Queen song. I feel pretty much nothing. No creative spark, no joy, but no other emotions, either. It's like I know what I should feel in situations, but I have a very fluffy blanket wrapped tightly around those emotions, and that results in nada.</li>
<li><b>Rage</b>. Oh the rage. I break and throw things. I scream my throat raw. I hate my husband, or at least I think I do. (This one, thankfully, is pretty well under control right now). I might be able to right, but I'm too busy being furious and petty.</li>
<li><b>Sadness</b>. Not a little--a lot. I'm beyond my dog dying, and I hate myself, because I am so damned broken, and my poor, amazing family has to deal with the screw-up me. What choice do they have? I once convinced myself I was such an awful person that a hurricane was my fault. I cry a lot, and I feel like I should be punished.</li>
<li><b>Fear</b>. This has been the hardest one, maybe. Maybe it's tied with Sadness. Anyway, fear paralyzes you, because what if any of the bad things happen? What if ALL the bad things happen? What if you aren't good enough, and you're just delusional? You can make SO MANY excuses for yourself that really all come down to being afraid.</li>
</ol>
<div>
I fight with myself. There's this incredible part of me that knows incredible stories, and if I could just TELL THEM, everything would be okay. Only, a lot of the time--most of the time--I can't. Each page is a struggle. Good pages, great pages, not because I don't know what to write, but because of the Four Horsemen of my personal apocalypse, riding me down.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have a page and a half of something new. My meds are close to right (for now). I'm still frightfully in love with too many commas. I'm still frightened, period.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Help?</div>
AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-58805328617041668962017-11-06T14:03:00.001-08:002017-11-06T14:03:46.816-08:00Longhand versus Word ProcessingIn the past, I typically typed my drafts, not bothering with longhand, but I suspect I need to do away with the typical this time, because of my fear of stepping back into the world of writing and attempted publication.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yup, that's it. That's all I wanted to say.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks.</div>
AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-67239964986583854502017-11-01T06:44:00.003-07:002017-11-01T06:44:26.185-07:00Prologue of Untitled MG Fantasy<span style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">On the very same day--the same hour, the very same moment, the elder princess of the kingdom of Estellei ceased to exist, the life of the a princess began. While one began her journey blinking ever more slowly into sleep, the other ended hers with her left fist dug into her abdomen and the right crammed into her small mouth lest she be unable to stifle her screams of pain.</span><br style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">From then on, all the people of Estellei, from the most humble peasant, to the king and queen, mourned their most beloved of the royal family, the elder princess.</span><br style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">For the next twelve years, the child grew, all but forgotten . . . except on the rare occasion someone would catch a glimpse of her, sparking some memory that slipped away almost immediately, to be replaced with the remembrance of some chore or errand needing immediate attention, That small notice, though, left in the passerby an inexplicable wave of revulsion, a metallic, coppery taste in their mouths.</span><br style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: #fffffa; color: #2c3635; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">This phenomenon held true for everyone; all but tiny Kiwi frog named Frute, who quite liked to the princess's cheek before it nestled down in the slight hollow of her neck, just before the start of her shoulder . . .</span>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-34383006749693571872017-08-19T15:28:00.001-07:002017-08-19T15:28:38.638-07:00Testing, One, Two, Three.<p dir="ltr">That testing thing, clearly.</p>
AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-8525818660718795002017-05-25T11:24:00.000-07:002017-05-25T11:26:14.897-07:00Oh, hello there, While. It's been.As a toe dipped back into blogging, I begin, and mostly end, today's post with this"<br />
<br />
They should make emojis/ post stickers for periods. Today I have The Period Headache. I need a sticker for that. Maybe an adorably dorky sheep butting it's head against a boulder, over and over. Yes.<br />
<br />
But for now, your post-Post, here's a current photo of The Youngest Son. He's modeling a Children's Place t-shirt that sort of tells Much Truth about him.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-To_ifB7mpIE/WScgzh0fXMI/AAAAAAAAA-E/w8ABZIOcA505d6SljHtO4MFfWM4BFn5dACLcB/s1600/18581735_10158714054390716_7637438261134336854_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="580" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-To_ifB7mpIE/WScgzh0fXMI/AAAAAAAAA-E/w8ABZIOcA505d6SljHtO4MFfWM4BFn5dACLcB/s320/18581735_10158714054390716_7637438261134336854_n.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, I said 'son'. Yes, he's that pretty. He's good with it. *grin*AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-70011802207296225962015-04-14T18:28:00.000-07:002015-04-14T18:34:01.923-07:00When You Dream in Short Stories<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">My church is by no means out
in the boonies, despite being in a one stoplight town (which we don’t even
actually need). Still, we take care of a variety of animals that have nowhere
else to go, and when the roof of their building gets done in by a seriously
strong thunder storm the congregation steps up to temporarily house the
otherwise homeless animals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">This is how I found my tiny,
1980’s model single-wide trailer stuffed to the brim (and secret basement
compartment? There wasn’t a lot down there, but there wasn’t nothing, either)
with wild things. At least two tarantulas with bodies as big as my head, fuzzy
and caramel colored like Fozzie the Bear shared a cage with a fox kit. A group
of a mama duck and several ducklings, plus a one-eye-blind, fat, fat tabby had
taken over my closet. Nieces and nephews crowded into the miniscule living
room, which mainly boasted a much-too-big fold-out couch. Granted, the nieces
and nephews weren’t part of the ecclesiastical zoo, but they were just as
beastly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The next morning, I pilfer
donuts from the master bedroom in my mother’s apartment (I guess we live in a
magical, place-changing abode); they’re half stale, and I can’t choose which I
actually want, so I commit the sin of taking a bit from each one. Send my
little brother off to school on his bike. I have no school to attend, just
drama about all of us getting kicked out onto the street for reasons I don’t
know. Perhaps our mother has offended someone, or not paid a debt, or any of the
other irresponsibility that slip off her being like a native language. Whatever
it is, she’s not around, and we’re cast from our belongings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Apparently, HE is having none
of this. Copper gold skin and eyes and charm coiled in layers around his
person—I know his name, but I don’t say it, don’t think it, shy away from the
fragility of it. He gathers me flush up against his side and drags me along,
his smile and infectious confidence like a thread sewn down the seam of us,
binding me to him. The force of his magnetism pulls in more people the closer
we get to the apartment. His best friend, all red hair, all over. Jeremy and
Stephanie, who break up and get back together so regularly you can set your
watch by them, agree to help us break in just so we can get our stuff out.
Cousins, charmed off of the rusty equipment at the complex playground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Even the manager, who blusters
and yells only when Ryan grabs the corner of the brick building and pries away
one wall to gain access. He clears away a guitar in its case, a sax, some
other instrument—perhaps a base drum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"Hey," I say,
clinging to the edge of the broken floor, putting a hand to Ryan’s shoulder.
"There’s enough room for me to crawl through, unlock the door from
the inside. Let’s get the rest that way."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">But the manager, down on the
grass, the soft, spongy grass below, calls up, irate and immutable. “You can’t
do that! Only the King of the apartment can grant permission to take out
belongings!” he huffs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I drop to the spongy grass,
knocking onto hands, rear end, and feet in my nearness. “I *am* the King,” I
say, smiling him a dare to contradict me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">He scuttles back a foot, like
a crab. “But you still need a second nationality to confirm the things are
yours … “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Scanning the crowd, find a
cousin, guide her before him with fingers cupped at the nape of her neck.
“She’s half Puerto Rican. Will that do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">His eyes bulge, doubtful,
because the cousin I’ve grabbed is all over as pale as moonlight. She
practically casts a lunar glow around herself. But, it’s true. She *is*
actually half-Puerto Rican, so I feel no shame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Whether he believes me or not,
he nods. I smile at him, then at my friends, hanging from ledges, and swinging
from handholds they’ve made of window boxes. “We’re good! Let’s come back
later!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I want to think of something
else, do something else, and suddenly He and I are at the gym, and I’m
contemplating some machine having to do with those muscles that make smart
girls stupid. I don’t need to make any smart girls stupid, but I wouldn’t
myself mind feeling a little more muscular, so I decide instead to use a
machine something of a human-sized hamster ball. It’s all pinging wires
straining at angles designed to make me work for the feeling of being in a
flight simulator. I’m told I’m using it incorrectly, which surprises
absolutely no one, but it’s okay, because the buses to take us to the festival
in the quarter have arrived. Two or more pairs of fat and fluffy leathered
headphones dangle over each seat bench so riders can enjoy music or silence on
the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">But I don’t want to take the
bus. Already hot, I want to walk, tracking myself down the scrollwork of a
stairway. Hot breath pins Him to the wall, just enough humidity in the air and
fresh sweat on our bodies that we need not worry about friction between them.
Even with the temperatures soaring around us, the coolness of his skin makes my
chest burn. It’s sticky, and I hate sticky, but I don’t hate this. I want more
from it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">He kisses me through his
smile. It’s a heaviness that makes no sense. Senseless, and overwhelming every
sense I’ve got. A consumption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"After this let’s go
home, take showers, and *not* get dressed," I whisper, my face somehow
having found his abdomen, which is soft and smooth, but so very slim, and my
mouth grazing the bare belly-button where his shirt’s flipped up. His jeans
aren’t new enough to cling any higher than the space just below his hipbones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">He smiles that smile again. I
may have a heart attack, seriously. Just BOOM! But he grabs my hand, pointing
over the railing, out of the shadows slicing across our enclosed space. “Look!
And I’ve got a couple of free passes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">A squashy older woman in a
floral dress and squashier hat festooned with aging silk flowers stands at the
ready behind the bar of a rickshaw. He wants to ride to the concert in that
thing. I inspect the old lady again, doubting she can haul anything with speed,
let alone a rickshaw carrying two people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"Wait here for a bit,
then," He says. "I’ll test her out first," and off He
strides, almost hopping through the crowds in his enthusiasm before I
even open my mouth to answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I ‘m sort of used to
this kind of behavior. I sigh, knowing I couldn’t have stopped him,
regardless. If I weren’t immune to blissful ignorance, I’d find this quality of
His infectious. As it is, I’ve instead learned a lot about patience,
because I love him. I think probably everybody loves him, but I do in the
closest proximity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Time on my hands, I look
around to see what else might occupy them. All around me every horizontal
surface is covered with coffee mugs spilling over with perennials. Flowers of
every short, stunty variety, colorful and stubborn, strain against ceramics
sporting logos and snarky comments. It’s a sea of seedlings and sarcasm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Some radio station has set up
a DJ booth, but instead of tunes being the main attraction, author and my
own acquaintance, Heather Marie is doing a book signing. The promoter has
done a bang-up job. Her name is EVERYWHERE. It’s on the plastic covering the
insulation of a building under construction, for goodness’s sake. In screaming
hot pink. Heather is doing well, buddy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Which is great, but not my
business at the moment, because I’ve spotted a magazine, and there on one
half of the center fold, unblemished by staples, He poses. And HE’s gorgeous,
of course. He couldn’t be less than beautiful if he tried, as far I’m
concerned. It isn’t fair, actually. There’s some short-haired female, but who
cares. It isn’t her image chasing adrenaline down my veins..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">How is it suddenly dusk? The
sun has fallen in the sky as if it wanted to get a good look, too, and thrust
itself too hard, overshooting the horizon. Naked lightbulbs dangle from wires
strung overhead. The DJ announces there’s a prize for the first person who can
answer the following question about Heather Marie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"What celebrity musician
told Heather on Instagram that turning 44 doesn’t matter at all?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I grin, knowing the answer
even as the crowd surges forward, shouting themselves hoarse getting it wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I laugh quietly to myself,
quietly getting it right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">A giant of a man with the face
and aura of John Torturo notices. He’s got to be eight feet tall. One of his
hands could easily encircle my entire waist. He turns his face in the direction
of the DJ and hollers that there’s a tiny little thing over here who knows, but
the crowd is so loud the DJ can’t hear even him. I don’t mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Someone does eventually get
the answer, and moments later the crowd disappears, a swarm of mosquitoes
sensing fresh blood elsewhere. Now there’s room to lean against the booth, even
a free barstool so I don’t need to stand. My eyes tease Heather while her
husband starts packing out empties and balling up discarded shrink wrap
behind her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"How’s Dido lately,
anyway. Had enough of her, yet?" I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Heather ignores my question,
her face a wreath of wryness. “You still waiting?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Suddenly, the far away clouds
seem very interesting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">But.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Then there He is. Different
rickshaw, different, driver, same would-be infectious smile, and He has my
brother sitting next to Him, home from school, the straps of his backpack wound
around his ankles to keep it from falling out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The adrenaline chases down my
veins again, slamming so hard into my nerve endings I suck in a shuddering
breath to ease all this pressure in my chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I understand about the
happiness attached to Him. I get it. Like the situation is a promise
pirouetting on the tips of my fingers, one whorl from shattering completely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">How come this terror is so addictive?</span></div>
AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-82601351891864569342015-03-05T16:00:00.000-08:002015-04-14T19:01:44.849-07:00Just sort of a fuzzly, flesh-colored oval, yeah?You know what are fans? Fantastic. Not just because they are enthusiastic, and supportive, and all the other great fan traits, but because they can do something I can't. Fans can see character's faces.<br />
Not me. I can many a thing about a written character, everything from clothes, to gestures, to hair color/cut/style. Height; I can see height. But I never get a clear bead on a face. Not for characters I read, and not even for characters I write. It's a really bizarre thing. If there's kissing, I can see the profile of a cheek, lips, maybe a shadow of chin, or nose, but I don't see eyes. If there's crying, I don't see mouths. My brain has quadri-sected (new word, own it) faces. Only the action-relevant quadrants appear in my mind's eye. It's like having a really sharp telescope that won't focus out of more than half a face at a time.<br />
<br />
But, oh my gosh, fans! You guys are glorious! My friend Kara is an artist, so her whole reader world is images matching up with words in her head. My friend Denise will read a character I've written, and then DISAGREE WITH ME* about what he or she looks like, and I love that. You have no idea how envious that makes me. Fans read a character, and picture him or her. Fans see a character and say, "This character should be played by this actor/actress/puppy dog in order to fit <em>my</em> mental idea of said character." That's wondrous.<br />
<br />
Then again, as long as I'm getting all the emotions the scene in meant to evoke, isn't it okay? It is. It really is. My little vague, flesh-colored ovals serve me pretty well, and in fact, it helps me to be open to the physical and visual interpretations of others, readers of my works, or works we both read. So, if you're ever in the position to ask me, "Who would you cast as "Character Character," just expect the best answer you'll get is a general approximation, based on puzzle piece glimpses of features jammed together from scenes all over. And we should both be cool with that, because I'm not blowing you off, or patronizing you. I'm just sharin', y'know?<br />
<br />
<em>*Holy Rainbow Suspenders, Batman! How much have we argued about Tristan? She thinks almost all of my casting possibilities/visual aids are too pretty boy, and I think most of hers look like meatheads. But we love each other. We try to find compromise. I think the closest we got was a young Travis van Winkle.</em>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-11301421986249410702014-08-15T19:53:00.005-07:002014-08-15T20:03:34.574-07:00Sorry, Mate; I Bat for the Other Team<div style="text-align: justify;">
In television dramas (yeah, I'm gonna be harping on them for a while: get used to it), there's this thing often mentioned during a relationship. They call it "playing push and pull". Sometimes this refers to what most English-speaking folk refer to as "playing hard to get", but sometimes what "playing push and pull" really means is emotionally dragging someone back and forth.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Aren't they the same thing? No. One is a manipulation whilst still anticipating a concrete, specific result (Person A and Person B end up either in a relationship, or they don't). The other has a sort of third party element, because it isn't what one Person A does to Person B regarding themselves; it's what Person A does to Person B in order to shape or manipulate Person B's view or perspective of Situation C (which could be a couple pairing, traumatic circumstances, what have you).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another possibly new-to-you term coined by drama addicts: Second Lead Syndrome. In short, SLS is the affliction of the observer rooting for the third party in a love triangle--the one who obviously isn't going to win. Most dramas, at least 95% of them, leave the Second Lead cold and alone, or if they're generous, with some glimmer of a positive occurrence via some <i>other</i> avenue in the last five minutes of the last episode.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
The most brilliant dramas, though, are the ones where both romantic prospects are written in such a way as to drive the reader running back and forth between camps. How? I swear it's gotta involve some sort of potion or magic spell, or soul-selling sorcery. Do the writers make both options so prime as to be a golden choice either way? Are they they drama equivalent of a Mary Sue? Nope. Those don't work. As with novels, it's boring.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not that I'm an expert, but the trick is so far as I can tell lies in giving something admirable <i>and</i> something vulnerable to both . . . and then taking turns in revealing those things so that the reader/watcher/voyeur/whatever is never quite convinced which is the "best" relationship. A Thing to watch out for, though. Waffling. If your Object d'affection goes back and forth between the other two points of the triangle, he or she better do it for believable reasons. Same for the observer. You aren't necessarily going to switch teams mid-game <i>just</i> because the coach does. <i>You </i>may be switching beforehand, because you know something the coach doesn't, or you may not change your mind at all, because you have a broader view of the game. The character going back and forth just because the two prospects show her some new shiny thing time and again is . . . annoying. I once read a book wherein the girl claimed to love two boys at once, and she got all hot and bothered no matter which once was kissing her, or looking at her with goo-goo eyes. And I mean within <i>pages</i>, paragraphs even, of each other. I call "bull crap". You can be sincere to either, but not both, and if you think you can, you are deluding yourself, because that is a sign of needing to take some time to figure yourself out. That is a cop-out, a lame plot device, and a serious abuse of a good make-out scene. RESPECT THE MAKE-OUT SCENE. Sorry. Mini-rant.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Playing 'Push and Pull'. Manipulating a reader so that he or she can genuinely fall for One or the Other and Back Again multiple times before the last page of the story. The subject can become a heated one, and it's often polarizing for fans. Team Edward or Team Jacob? Team Will or Team Jem. Team Sorry I Have A Headache or Team So I Can't Bother with Other Examples. But was there ever a moment when A Team Edward member was swayed--even a second, even for just a blink or a sentence--over to Team Jacob? Sure there was. Was there a moment when a reader though, "Oh, yes. I know these two really want to be together, but wouldn't it be so much healthier/happier/sweeter/just for the other two to end up a couple, instead?" Of course.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, how are you going to do it? How are you going to make a reader question their own preference? Second guess their own hearts? Spare a sigh for the other?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
Get crackin'.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Personal Note: Youngest wants you to know that the Goblin King is famous for being a rock star.</i></div>
AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-37964876898399496572014-08-06T13:46:00.002-07:002014-08-15T20:04:20.588-07:00Sometimes Someone Needs to Say You SuckWell, okay, maybe not, "You suck!" verbatim, but something at least along the lines of "Uh, you might wanna rethink this," or, "Sorry, not feeling it."<br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
That person is hopefully someone whose input you've actually asked for, like a critique partner, or a beta reader. Sometimes, if you don't have someone to tell you when you suck, your have a harder time feeling good about the times you <i>don't</i> suck.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It has been a very long time for me to have a person to tell me when I suck. A. Very. Long. Time. It's no one's fault, because life happens, and the people who used to tell me when I suck are terribly busy with the life happening. Starting new careers, reproducing humans, reproducing more humans, surgeries, education. It's tough enough (though worth it and never impossible) to keep up with being friends, let alone getting told I suck.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm busy, too. I went back to school. *pauses for applause*. I'm literally a soccer/basketball/band mom to three fledgling male humans (sometimes more, depending on whether or not any of my "might as well be half mine, anyway" kids are over--right now I have at least one of them every day between 7AM and noon). I have a husband who works hours that suit us, but would seem wonky to the rest of the world (We often get up at 6 or 7, send off small people to school, and then go back to bed until 10 or 11). I study Korean on the side. I have a metric crap-ton of creative hobbies--knitting, origami, watercolors, illumination, doing weird things to my hair.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Point being, I have a lot to distract me from writing, and not a lot of people to harass or encourage me when I slack--not writers who have an insider's idea of how that can be problematic.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
BUT! Recently, I got one (yes, I make her sound like a scarf I found in a shop). We agree on about 92% of the stuff we talk about, which is great, but I think that 8% we disagree about is more helpful, because it means I have to look at something differently, and that's what I need. I need a point of view that can clearly say, "You suck," when I need it (J doesn't ever actually say I suck, and she's much more tactful than am I, but you get the idea). Sometimes she gives me a little poke and virtually whispers, "This sounds too formal," or, "You're trying too hard, here." I'm finding that invaluable. She also says lovely things, things that make me feel wonderful, but it's the troubles she points out that almost make me feel better.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because would she highlight the bad if she didn't believe in my ability to improve upon it? Probably not. I wouldn't. I say evil things to her all the time. I question things in her writing mercilessly. Why? Because I'm pretty sure she's got the gumption to figure out the answers and apply them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yeah, it's hard to accept our own suckation, and our first instinct is to resent being called out on it. I am a generally aggressive, defensive, prickly person, I know, but it's a serious leveling up in your maturity game if you can begin looking at constuctive criticism as a positive thing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Think of it as someone's faith in you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Personal Note: No lady, that's not Sebastien Solis; that's my kid.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pq4LQfL6Uts/U-KTtX8GV9I/AAAAAAAAAw8/Zc8AiVtqL9w/s1600/1522090_10154445632535716_379990023189742369_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pq4LQfL6Uts/U-KTtX8GV9I/AAAAAAAAAw8/Zc8AiVtqL9w/s1600/1522090_10154445632535716_379990023189742369_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Hello, 13-year-old supermodel.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-53024600672288009782014-07-29T20:47:00.002-07:002014-07-30T19:50:10.115-07:00YA Meets Kimchi<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">You likely didn't realize there are several YA/MG
writers who also happen to be K-drama addicts, but it's important do, because
we are totally willing to make you <em>one of us
. . . </em>Kdramas are awesome, and personally I've always felt one of the reasons so many YA authors love them has to do with the basic traits most Kdramas have. Love story (usually a triangle)? Check. Angst? Check. Overcoming obstacles? Check. Hot boys and pretty girls (your tastes as they apply)? Check. FEELS-filled first kisses? Almost always. Even in the Kdramas geared more toward adults the kisses come few and far between, but when they come you fall over from all the darling.</span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></em><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span id="goog_1312884801">
</span><span id="goog_1312884801"> Actually, because we are weird, and addicted, and contagious, a group of YA writers has gone so far as to
fan-cast Korean actors and actresses for either film adaptations or reboots of YA/MG novels we love, and I get to be play, too. (Laura said so!)</span></span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
The <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=YA+Meets+Kimchi&sourceid=ie7&rls=com.microsoft:en-US:IE-Address&ie=&oe=&rlz=&gws_rd=ssl">YA Meets Kimchi</a> series has included recasts by authors like <a href="http://rachel-carter.com/blog/13896013">Rachel Carter</a>, <a href="http://laurajmoss.com/laurablog/?p=3610">Laura J. Moss</a>, <a href="http://seecoreywrite.wordpress.com/2014/02/06/ya-meets-kdrama-cinder/">Corey Wright</a>, <a href="http://one-page-reviews.blogspot.com/2013/09/if-lola-boy-next-door-were-kdrama.html">Katie M Stout</a>, and book reviewer <a href="http://readeroffictions.com/2013/09/ya-meets-kdrama-distance-us/">Christina</a> over at <a href="http://readeroffictions.com/">A Reader of Fictions</a>.</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've chosen my favorite book
of all time, which just happens to be a teen read having existed before the
term "young adult" as applied to books existed (think 1967).</span><br />
<i><br /></i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<strong><i>The
Outsiders, by S. E. Hinton</i></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've been in love with the (sadly) fictional Ponyboy Curtis since I was
four years old. Yeah: four. I've been in love with Hinton's novel about him since age
thirteen. Hinton was only sixteen years old when she wrote about a group of rough
neighborhood kids in Tulsa, OK (my birthplace), and the fallout from one of
them accidentally killing a rich kid, or "Soc"--short for
"socialite"--while trying to save narrator Ponyboy, as said Soc is actively trying to <em>drown him </em>at the time.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span id="goog_1312884801">
</span>
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span id="goog_1312884801" style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Told from Ponyboy's first-person reverie in the
form of an essay assignment, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Outsiders</i> is a somber, pensive, and sometimes brutal social commentary on
the class system within late-60's Tulsa, but it isn't without its brighter moments between the dark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I sob like a
like a hired mourner every time I read it.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span id="goog_1312884801">
</span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801" style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">So, without further ado, a Korean recasting of
S.E. Hinton's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Outsiders</i>.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Ponyboy</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span id="goog_1312884801"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MDvLt-TB5zo/U9gWk9ks8MI/AAAAAAAAArQ/fF3VZu0Jtds/s1600/%253B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MDvLt-TB5zo/U9gWk9ks8MI/AAAAAAAAArQ/fF3VZu0Jtds/s1600/%253B.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HnJkItcEf6A/Utnot-WiKCI/AAAAAAAAArs/oGFnWwHRfG0/s1600/2012102216082223685_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HnJkItcEf6A/Utnot-WiKCI/AAAAAAAAArs/oGFnWwHRfG0/s1600/2012102216082223685_1.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XooJF4JA6pA/UtSiSvfBHKI/AAAAAAAAAqI/1XkckmIbsEc/s1600/581240_488338111201316_1076051816_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XooJF4JA6pA/UtSiSvfBHKI/AAAAAAAAAqI/1XkckmIbsEc/s1600/581240_488338111201316_1076051816_n.jpg" height="200" width="141" /></a></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;">
<span id="goog_1312884801" style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>Ponyboy Curtis, played by the ridiculously talented and versatile Yoo Seung Ho</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><br /><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Ponyboy Curtis</em>. Fourteen, but looks older. He's
the youngest Curtis brother, runs track and smokes, considered very bright by
his teachers, feels bullied by his oldest brother, Darry, but adores the middle
Curtis brother, Sodapop. More introspective than most "greasers" (or
kids from the wrong side of the tracks), Pony sees people, including his fellow
greasers, from a more objective angle. He's isn't naïve, but he isn't hard like
some of the other guys with whom he hangs out. When <em>Johnny Cade</em> unintentionally
kills a Soc one night while trying to protect Pony from a drowning, Pony runs
away with Johnny to evade retribution and jail time.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span id="goog_1312884801"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Sodapop</i></b></span></span></div>
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</span><span id="goog_1312884801"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;">Played by Lee Hyun-Jae, a perfect actor for
a character described as “movie star good-looking”</i><span style="text-align: center;">.</span></span></span><br />
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<br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><em>Sodapop</em> is, as are most middle children, the peace-maker and intermediary between <em>Ponyboy</em>
and <em>Darry</em>, not to mention the rest of the greasers. While not the smartest kid
on the block (he's dropped out of high school already), Soda is charming to a T,
upbeat, and intuitive regarding others. Soda’s laugh can usually cool down most
hot tempers, and of course girls everywhere swoon over him . . . but he doesn't seem to notice, because he’s devoted to
his long-time girlfriend Sandy.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Darry</i></b></span>
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<span id="goog_1312884801"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z269p_Paj3A/U9hXQtHbDVI/AAAAAAAAAtA/q30zK7vXVfY/s1600/sl70w1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z269p_Paj3A/U9hXQtHbDVI/AAAAAAAAAtA/q30zK7vXVfY/s1600/sl70w1.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-grPQVfJP-gA/U9hXQculQtI/AAAAAAAAAs0/g9siQttR1m0/s1600/philiplee_30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-grPQVfJP-gA/U9hXQculQtI/AAAAAAAAAs0/g9siQttR1m0/s1600/philiplee_30.jpg" height="200" width="135" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2OKeBHj367A/U9hXQvw6CVI/AAAAAAAAAs4/RRk0LMcoIRY/s1600/fullsizephoto48674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2OKeBHj367A/U9hXQvw6CVI/AAAAAAAAAs4/RRk0LMcoIRY/s1600/fullsizephoto48674.jpg" height="141" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span id="goog_1312884801"><i>Played by Philip Lee, a man who can move in
ways that pay homage to previous Darry, Patrick Swayze</i></span></div>
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<span id="goog_1312884801"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Darry</em> is the eldest Curtis brother. He’s built like a ton of bricks, but has
trouble showing affection. Having had to take on the role of mom and dad since
the Curtis boys’ parents died a car crash a few years before, he often appears harsh, but his motivations are brought about by fraternal concern. In a rare show of denseness, Pony interprets Darry's criticisms as resentment and dislike for his youngest brother, however, all the other guys in their group insist just the opposite it true:
<em>Darry</em> is hard on Pony because he sees Pony’s potential, and he feels guilty
for not being able to give Pony more advantages.</span></span></span></div>
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<b><i>Johnny</i></b></div>
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<i>Song Joong-ki, a kid so gorgeously
baby-faced you’d never peg him to play such an impossibly tragic
character as Johnny, but trust me and the people who cast him in Werewolf Boy,
he CAN.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;"><em>Johnny Cade</em>, aged
sixteen, but described as looking like a scared puppy that’s been kicked too
many times. Fragile, skittish, vulnerable, Johnny is not only the kid most
likely to be found hanging out with Ponyboy (often to avoid being screamed at
or beaten by his own dad), but also the recent victim of a serious bludgeoning
by a group of rich boys with nothing better to do. Something about
Johnny engenders a sense of protectiveness in all the guys in Pony’s group,
even the street-hardened <em>Dally</em>. However, Johnny is not without his own brand of
Zen. In a certain exchange with Pony, Johnny makes Pony promise to “stay gold”, a
reference to Robert Frost’s poem <em>Nothing
Gold Can Stay</em>. He wants Pony to never let himself get so bitter he loses
the “gold” or young part of himself.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CW4I0rpF6sg/U9hd_wPRQBI/AAAAAAAAAuk/AptXn7tdHas/s1600/Nell-00005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CW4I0rpF6sg/U9hd_wPRQBI/AAAAAAAAAuk/AptXn7tdHas/s1600/Nell-00005.jpg" height="112" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i9DZnWzPMTs/U9heCO5E3PI/AAAAAAAAAvA/FQ3fgDjpInA/s1600/highcut-song-jae-lim-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i9DZnWzPMTs/U9heCO5E3PI/AAAAAAAAAvA/FQ3fgDjpInA/s1600/highcut-song-jae-lim-1.jpg" height="140" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Dally</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--kiZYZhNCaM/U9heB8zhhvI/AAAAAAAAAu8/VeSQ-_bZnB8/s1600/Song-Jae-Rim-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--kiZYZhNCaM/U9heB8zhhvI/AAAAAAAAAu8/VeSQ-_bZnB8/s1600/Song-Jae-Rim-13.jpg" height="200" width="129" /></a></div>
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<i>Song Jae Lim as Dally, because holy frak,
can this man play cynical AND broken.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><em>Dallas "Dally" Winston</em>, survivor of the streets of Manhattan from the time he
was ten till now, his early 20’s. He’s the most temperamental, most violent of
all the boys, and understandably so. He’s a brute crushed by his own inability
to stay out of trouble, so instead of waiting for it to find him, he goes out
in search of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the same, when Pony
and Johnny run to him first after accidentally killing a Soc, he’s quick to
think of the best-case scenario for keeping them at least relatively safe in a
pinch, and when Johnny’s fate takes a terrible twist, it’s Dally who goes crazy
from the loss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Two-Bit</i></b></span></div>
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<i>Yoon Shi Yoon, one of my favorite goof-able
actors in the Korean world, just the kid to play a kid always ready to laugh,
or pull a switch blade.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><em>Two-Bit Matthews</em>, so named because he always has to put in his
two-cents’ worth. Jovial, silly, playful, Two-Bit can steal anything not nailed
down, and is too busy joking to take much of anything seriously . . . unless of
course his mastery of knives is needed, in which case he’s ready to back up
his friends. Hey, what else is “practically family” for?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Steve</i></b></span><br /><img height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7S589IJepyE/U9hd9BpuHUI/AAAAAAAAAtw/QzHbm_NKPMc/s1600/01-093.jpg" width="144" /> </span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Lee Jong-suk, because he isn’t afraid to make a dumbass of himself, and
face it, Steve is a dumbass.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><em>Steve</em>, Sodapop’s best friend and co-worker at the garage/gas station
where Soda works. There’s honestly not a whole lot to know about Steve outside
of that, except boy can shove an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">enormous</i>
piece of chocolate cake in his face in pretty much one go.</span></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quite possibly the most beautiful man you’ve
ever seen playing a smiling, murderous psychopath, No Min-woo.</i><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><em>David the Soc</em>. Not a lot to be said about him, either, except to note
he’s the Soc trying to drown Pony at the playground, and whom Johnny
subsequently kills in self-defense. As an actor, Min-woo seems pretty fond of
cameos, and besides, his schedule is kinda insane right now, so offing him near
the beginning of the adaptation really suits.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Bob</i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CjX4PAknmJw/U9hd-2XAWWI/AAAAAAAAAuM/JEssrdAcp7I/s1600/Kim-Soo-Hyun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CjX4PAknmJw/U9hd-2XAWWI/AAAAAAAAAuM/JEssrdAcp7I/s1600/Kim-Soo-Hyun.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhEyxNZQg4E/U9hd8l6WUeI/AAAAAAAAAts/0YW0UE_fJ78/s1600/1007_KimSooHyun_525355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"> </span><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-atP9a1s0wh4/U9hd9HVd18I/AAAAAAAAAt8/83oQtmmuDBo/s1600/131231_ycfts_sbs_3.jpg" style="text-align: right;" width="133" /></span><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"> </span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhEyxNZQg4E/U9hd8l6WUeI/AAAAAAAAAts/0YW0UE_fJ78/s1600/1007_KimSooHyun_525355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JhEyxNZQg4E/U9hd8l6WUeI/AAAAAAAAAts/0YW0UE_fJ78/s1600/1007_KimSooHyun_525355.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Kim So-hyun. Don’t even get me started with
this guy, just know he’s got just the right charm to make readers/viewers
understand what Cherry Valance sees in Bob.</i></div>
<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bob the Soc: owner of a red Corvair and leader of the group of Soc boys
getting a ride in it. Bob’s going out with Cherry Valance—at least when he
hasn’t pissed her off by being a complete jerk. He wears a large ring on his
right hand, a ring that—a few days before—did serious damage to Johnny’s face.
Cherry sticks up for Bob during an enlightening conversation with Pony, saying
that he isn’t all bad and could even be sweet.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Cherry</i></b></span><br />
</span><br />
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
</div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1XYtwcEbRk/U9heDz607gI/AAAAAAAAAvw/W2u0vcM-Yu0/s1600/untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1XYtwcEbRk/U9heDz607gI/AAAAAAAAAvw/W2u0vcM-Yu0/s1600/untitled.png" width="200" /></a> <img height="164" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JA51UKJX7Cc/U9heBv8f4eI/AAAAAAAAAu4/9Zily_tdahk/s1600/PSY.jpg" width="200" /></span></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XETsDvsxPec/Utno2QkKgtI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/qpQOYcw0mkk/s1600/psy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XETsDvsxPec/Utno2QkKgtI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/qpQOYcw0mkk/s1600/psy.jpg" width="136" /></a></span></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Park Se-young. Isn’t she
lovely? And playing a Joseon-era queen, she’s proven she can play a complex,
strong, thoughtful woman</span></i><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">.</span></i></span></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span><br />
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Cherry Valance, the intelligent, non-biased connection between Greaser
and Soc. From a wealthy family, but aware that things are “rough all over”,
she’s mature, loyal, adamant, and still compassionate enough to grieve for the
people lost during the course of the story, people from both sides of the
economic median. She defends a cruel-seeming Soc, but also admits she’s not
immune to foul-mouthed Dally’s charms, without actually succumbing to them.</span></span></div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</span><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
</div>
<span style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<br /><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Marcia</i></b></span><br />
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1k2Mmy_0Hao/U9hiJz5l49I/AAAAAAAAAwA/Z0OOhOQ5e4M/s1600/suzy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1k2Mmy_0Hao/U9hiJz5l49I/AAAAAAAAAwA/Z0OOhOQ5e4M/s1600/suzy.png" width="200" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d0lDzCl4UHc/UtnoxeNiuzI/AAAAAAAAAjY/z-JIQuqjw58/s1600/Bae+Suzy+%25281%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d0lDzCl4UHc/UtnoxeNiuzI/AAAAAAAAAjY/z-JIQuqjw58/s1600/Bae+Suzy+%25281%2529.png" width="200" /></a> <img height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ByIj3pMZpSY/U9heCyvQ_VI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/FnGbavv06GU/s1600/suzy.jpg" width="162" /> </div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Bae Suzy. Highly popular and
most often cast as a stoic, self-centered lead or second lead, I like the idea
of seeing Bae play the cameo-sized role of Marcia, Cherry’s care-free, bubbly,
unself-conscious bestie.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Every popular girl needs a cute, optimistic BFF, right? Marcia’s place
as Cherry’s partner in down-time has little screen time, but serves to not only
lighten the mood, include a few witty quips, and act as a buffer between
increasingly-hot tempers (hello, Cherry vs. Dally!), but she also subtly underscores
Cherry’s value as an unprejudiced, atypical pretty girl, because Cherry clearly
doesn’t have any part in making herself a Mean Girl with Marcia as her
hanger-on. Also, because Marcia doesn’t have any problem hanging out with
Greasers—in fact, Dally’s crudity in making a pass slips off her like water off
a duck’s back, and she even sort of flirts with Two-Bit in the same sort of
silly style to which tends any conversation involving the prankster.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I won’t spoil you on the storyline any more than I have to, but I don’t
think it would be wrong to say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Outsiders</i> has the same emotional payoff of Green’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">An Abundance of Katherines </i>or Chbosky’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Perks of Being a Wallflower</i>.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>. . . And just so you have some
basis for comparison, two more photos: a shot of the original cast, and a photo
of my own personal copy of the book.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="272" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t0JNiGsjnTc/Utno41307CI/AAAAAAAAAsI/V-blef0gHnk/s1600/The-Outsiders-in-Levis.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<em><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">From Left to Right, Emilio Estevez as Two Bit Matthews, Rob Lowe as
Sodapop, C. Thomas Howell as Ponyboy, Matt Dillion as Dally, Ralph Machio as
Johnny, Patrick Swayze as Darry, and Tom Cruise as Steve.</span></em></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 8pt;">
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">
<em><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></em></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3fKwwT-nGV0/UtnoxqV8cWI/AAAAAAAAAjg/XkzPdipAO_s/s1600/cherry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3fKwwT-nGV0/UtnoxqV8cWI/AAAAAAAAAjg/XkzPdipAO_s/s1600/cherry.jpg" height="270" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Diane Lane as Cherry Valance</span></em></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gdx-1T96TQ8/Utno0CJ8bvI/AAAAAAAAAsA/LPrzPrg7IIA/s1600/outsiders.jpg" width="206" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.69px;">My much-loved copy.</span></em></div>
</div>
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
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with "https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XETsDvsxPec/Utno2QkKgtI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/qpQOYcw0mkk/s1600/psy.jpg" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-s3Zxxl0eN94%2FU9hd_zw5pII%2FAAAAAAAAAuc%2Fkd8eckHE7L8%2Fs1600%2FLee-Jong-Suk-25.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s3Zxxl0eN94/U9hd_zw5pII/AAAAAAAAAuc/kd8eckHE7L8/s1600/Lee-Jong-Suk-25.jpg" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-ByIj3pMZpSY%2FU9heCyvQ_VI%2FAAAAAAAAAvQ%2FFnGbavv06GU%2Fs1600%2Fsuzy.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ByIj3pMZpSY/U9heCyvQ_VI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/FnGbavv06GU/s1600/suzy.jpg" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-atP9a1s0wh4%2FU9hd9HVd18I%2FAAAAAAAAAt8%2F83oQtmmuDBo%2Fs1600%2F131231_ycfts_sbs_3.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-atP9a1s0wh4/U9hd9HVd18I/AAAAAAAAAt8/83oQtmmuDBo/s1600/131231_ycfts_sbs_3.jpg" -->AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-33116400753573550172012-12-10T19:16:00.001-08:002012-12-10T19:16:54.088-08:00I am not dead.There was some germy business, and some apathy business, and perhaps a schedule to rival that of a Hallyu start brought me right to the precipice, but NOT DEAD.<br /><br />Hopefully, more later, if I can get myself motivated enough.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-24844402055335882972012-06-29T13:59:00.000-07:002012-06-29T13:59:11.154-07:00Anybody notice how little writing I've got going on, lately?The last line I wrote in The Book is:<br />
<br />
"Drew surprises me."<br />
<br />
And even though it's only about 55 pages in, and i know how things proceed, what happens, and the whereto's and whyfore's I cannot for the life of me WANT to write anything more.<br />
<br />
Send . . . encouragement?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://www.hill-kleerup.org/blog/doingwrite/wp/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/calvin-and-hobbes-mood.png" />
</div>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-29137281351219068392012-05-30T21:53:00.000-07:002012-05-30T21:53:07.931-07:00Pretty Maids Tied in a Bow*Besides having posted three very pretty boys in the post below (let's all take a moment to swoon, shall we?), today I'd like to <strike>rant</strike> discuss what I think of as "The Rushed Conclusion", or more informally, "What the hell? Twenty hours of build-up for ten minutes of Happily Ever After? The Asymmetry!"<br />
<br />
I think it's safe to blog that I am a really big anti-fan of things being too neat. This applies to stories as well. I want things to feel complete, sure, but is perfection the only kind of completion to chase after? I cry foul. If everything ends up with every little loose end tucked safely back into the rope, how has anything really changed or grown from the beginning of the story to the end?<br />
<br />
Lately my beef with this sort of thing has been grilled by the Korean dramas I am still, yes, addicted to (moving on, now). Each one has been between 16 to 25 hour-long episodes, during which there's a pretty good pace and the story arc is well developed . . . until one gets to the last episode or two, wherein they often try too hard to make everything seem impossible to overcome or survive the Bad Situation in the current drama, and then, at the last possible scene everything works out so that everyone gets exactly what they want. This usually takes five to ten minutes.<br />
<br />
Ever read a book like that? Where, yes, all the questions are answered and all the problems solved, but it's like on the second half of the last page? And how annoying is that? Even though everything ends up resolved, it doesn't <i>feel</i> like it, and you come away having this weird kind of niggling in the back of your mind that you've forgotten something, even though you haven't. It IS annoying.<br />
<br />
So, my advice, as a consumer of stories, is this: Don't just worry about tying up loose bits at the end. That won't cut it with most of us. You've got to make us work for it.<br />
<br />
*A version The Eagles didn't release, as opposed to <i>Pretty Maids All in a Row</i>, which is my favorite Eagles tune.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-32600339394958623302012-05-21T23:26:00.000-07:002012-05-21T23:26:15.525-07:00If my keyboard was equipped to post this in the Korean alphabet, I'd do it.So, yes, it's after midnight, and I have a glaring headache and a stubborn streak about going to bed any time soon. Might as well blog, yes?<br />
<br />Lately, I've fallen victim to my MISH! and her diabolical plan to never see me finish editing a novel because her latest move involved something called Kdramas. For the uninitiated, these are quirky/fairly innocent nighttime soap operas from Korea. With subtitles. And boy howdy are they addictive. The teenager in me fangasms like mad about them. My husband may have lost all respect for me, because yeah, okay, there is definitely a common thread of hokiness in all of them, even the vigilante revenge one, but COME ON. He knows my biggest time-sucking weakness (and he's strangely encouraging about it ???), and I present the following into evidence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="http://desmond.imageshack.us/Himg268/scaled.php?server=268&filename=42700660.jpg&res=landing" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="245" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kim Hyun Joong, possibly the prettiest male smiler ever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><img alt="imagination-rules-the-world:
Lee Min Ho
" height="320" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m48onsG6Ei1qc0zrqo1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="217" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Lee Min Ho, who has unfairly long legs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/200571_209639242395683_100000488255565_783149_3885546_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="232" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And finally, the ridiculously beautiful Jang Geun Suk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Apparently, Korea is churning out some seriously pretty Pretty Boys, AKA that aforementioned weakness of mine. In my defense, though, while I might have begun watching because of the scenery, I kept watching because I became more and more interested in the cultural differences. For instance, I've begun learning Hangul, the Korean alphabet, and wonder if I might some day learn to speak Korean. It's so lyrical. So far, the lessons are going well, even if I'm a little apprehensive about getting into the grammar, because I have English grammar so very deeply ingrained in my knowledge banks. Still, it's been kind of fun! I love language, and I like studying things independently, so . . .<br /><br />I also determined to mutually get healthier and my sexy back, so I've been working out between 30 minutes and an hour every day, mostly weight and resistance training, but as much as I hate running/cardio, I've even worked in some of that every day. You would not believe how pumped you can get just playing Star Wars Kinect Galaxy Dance off. Guys, I have actual biceps at this point! They're still small, but they're there! Husband and I have a weekend away coming up, and I plan to turn some heads for all the right reasons.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There you have it; what I've been doing instead of editing as much as I should. Summer's coming up soon, so after a week or so readjusting for that schedule, I should get a lot more writing time in, even while nursing my Kdrama affliction.</div>
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*sigh* And now I'm finally tired. head's still roaring dully, but I think I can fall asleep. </div>
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Night, guys. Stay safe.<br /> <br />
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</div>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-23605754733287171422012-04-28T20:24:00.002-07:002012-04-28T20:24:48.120-07:00By the Light of the MoonIf you don't know this already, I am a Reader. In the bedroom I share with my husband, approximately one quarter of the all wall space is covered with stacks of books, no bookshelves. In general, I can pound out reading a 400 page novel in about 16 hours (though often I "pace" myself and stick to a couple of days). I love reading, and I am damned good at it.<br />
<br />
Another thing you might not know, my eldest son, of whom I am SO PROUD NO MATTER WHAT, has always had a tough time with reading. Long story short, his kindergarten teacher was an easy mark and didn't insist he actually learn much before she passed him, and because he didn't do as well as other children, he truly believed he <i>couldn't</i> read. Another kink, the kid is both seriously smart, and seriously stubborn, which means he loves learning, but only what he's interested in.<br />
<br />
It took <i>years</i> to get things sorted, give Eldest the confidence to try a littler harder, to make up for missed progress. A took holding him back a year, to let him gain the maturity to have some belief in himself. It took at least two to three hours of teeth-gritting homework on mine and Husband's parts, because Eldest would have a tear-filled, self-loathing melt-down because he was convinced he was stupid. He hated reading more than anything. We tried books about things that <i>do</i> interest him, like science. We tried reading to him, and asking him to read to us. We tried talking to a shrink. We tried everything we could think of in the realms of tough love and positive reinforcement. Guys, it was an every single day heartbreak, and it was probably made worse by how well the middle brother reads and loves school, and how much I love to read. I imagine he compared himself to us and despaired. We told him over and over that everyone is better at some subjects than other; that I suck like no one's business at math, that Middle son doesn't have a lick of common sense, that the Daddy Man lacks creativity. We said, "It's okay if you don't like reading as much as we do; that's cool. You just have to have the skills, so you can learn more about what you DO love." He said he believed us, but I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
By the beginning to middle of this year, he was reading at levels three grades higher than the grade he's in. Even taking a year away for the held-back year, that's two grades above his age. He still didn't much care for reading, but he could do it, and he knew he was better than average at it. You just don't know, people, how relieved we all were. Oh, he was still stubborn, still independent, even a little dismissive of subjects he didn't want to learn, but he learned them, albeit with little interest. And he hates history and science chapter reviews. That's fine. He can hate the reviews all he likes.<br />
<br />
But you guys . . . YOU GUYS,<i> LISTEN.</i><br />
<br />
The other night I had to get onto him for not going to sleep at bed time. I actually went in to the room to tell him to turn off his light, thinking he'd left it on as a night light. But no; He was still wearing his glasses, and just as I came in I detected the tell-tale crackle of paper being quashed under a blanket.<br />
<br />
He'd been sneak-reading A REAL BOOK UNDER HIS COVERS. GUYS! READING FOR PLEASURE! MY ELDEST "HATES READING" SON!!!! Do you understand the words coming out of my monitor right now?<br />
<br />
I calmly told him to put away the book (a Percy Jackson novel, in case you wondered), turn of his light, and go to sleep . . . and then I promptly closed the door, tip-toed back to the living room where Husband and I had been movie watching, and did what is likely the dorkiest-looking HAPPY DANCE in known history. Husband and I grinned at each other like idiots for five solid minutes.<br />
<br />
So, dear teachers who have believe in Eldest, dear husband who helped weather that storm, and for goodness' sake, dear Rick Riordan, THANK YOU.<br />
<br />
<i>Personal Note: While I was always an awesomely capable reader in school, I didn't actually come to LOVE reading until I was eleven years old. The first book that really sucked me in was a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/California-Girls-Baby-Sitters-Super-Special/dp/0590435752/ref=sr_1_145?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1335669799&sr=1-145">Babysitter's Club book, something about a summer vacation</a>. After that, I read like a maniac, first every BC book our library had, and then I branched out all over the place. Guess how old Eldest just turned? Yup. Eleven. *beams*</i>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-22739709631048311522012-02-10T20:32:00.000-08:002012-02-10T20:42:05.898-08:00What My Traffic Guards Have Taught Me About StoriesYou may think, "Wait, what? Traffic guards, as in those people who stand at four-ways and crosswalks directing cars and kids just before and after school hours?"<br />
<br />
Yes. Them. We have two at my sons' elementary school.<br />
<br />
First off, on the corner before one gets to the actual entrance of the school, there is a Grumpy Old Man. He is such a very clearly Grumpy Old Man he deserves caps to express his grumpy old man-ness. He's new this year. I don't like him. I want our scrawny, ball-cap-wearing, three-packs-a-day-smoking guy from last year back. He understood my blasting "We Will Rock You" from my windows as I drove by on Fridays was a sacred thing between myself and sons, and he realized it is totally cool to enjoy a rousing play of "Low Rider" in a minivan that seats seven. Also, he knew what the hell he was doing.<br />
<br />
Not the case with Grumpy Old Man. GrOM, for lack of a more sensitive way of saying it, is not only grumpy, but he is wibbly-wobbly without the<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIMGkR2BkkI&feature=autoplay&list=PL223496CE3B2BB3DF&lf=results_main&playnext=2"> timey-wimey</a> fun. Now, to be fair, I suspect judging solely on his physique he's recently gone through a necessary and rapidly successful gastric bypass surgery. In other words, I think he's lost quite a lot of weight in a short amount of time, and much of his skin just hasn't enough wibbly-wobbly to catch up, yet. Meanwhile, he cannot direct traffic. Not because of his body, but because he can't seem to get the concept of, "You point in the direction you WANT the cars TO GO." Instead he does a sort of hoppy, skippy, jig step, points in three directions, whistles out his lungs, and tries to glare the oncoming cars and their drivers into submission. We're never sure where he's going with this, and I think we're all just profusely hoping the damage will be minimal when we all pile up because of him.<br />
<br />
If GrOM where telling a story, he'd tell it in stops and sprints, all out of order, and with a bullying tendency to beat the reader over the head with plot points. I wouldn't like that story much, would you?<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, our other traffic guard is a spry-if-plump older lady who looks like she could eat the Big Bad Wolf for breakfast, until she smiles and then you realize she's just a granny and cookies appear out of nowhere. She stands right in the point of a T where the lines meet, regulating cars coming from the street in front of the school onto the road that winds up into the Car Line (where you drop off and pick up your kids, FYI), and back onto the front street from the Car Line. It takes a bit of finessing the pace. How many cars to let in before you stop them so other cars can get out? What if a car comes from, or needs to go in a different direction? Don't you worry, she's got it. Her movements are precise, distinct, clear. Let in X# of cars, raise hand to indicate stop. Pause to step back two steps, motion for current number of cars in Car Line to exit. Repeat as necessary. Make calculated adjustments for cars coming from the left-hand side of the road (almost all of us come from the right), and for cars wishing to exit right from the Car Line. If the cars were scenes, excepting the "adjustments" cars, which we'll consider plots twists, Spry Granny controls the pace with grace. Scenes flow by smoothly, twists are not slammed into the traffic, but gently, stealthily maneuvered in, and all of it with a stony expression that becomes a sincerely warm smile in the flick of a reflective-striped wrist.<br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be a Spry Granny writer than GrOM.<br />
<br />
<i>Personal Note: My cat is named Fable. He thinks he is a dog, or maybe an<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ucELW0EB58Q"> owlet</a>, and despite his feline anatomy, he loves baths. He seriously tries to sneak into the tub while the boys bathe, and when I take off his collar he KNOWS he's about to get a bath, so he starts mewing at me excitedly.</i>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-49266013768821268462012-01-30T07:26:00.000-08:002012-01-30T07:26:09.358-08:00Incarnate Treasure Hunt Pimpage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://libriago.blogspot.com/2012/01/incarnate-fun.html"><img border="0" height="152" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iWm5oOP-Qsw/Tya2Qf9xCjI/AAAAAAAAAMw/sBz1XYMRF2s/s400/Incarnate+Theater+Treasure+Hunt+banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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You would have <a href="http://libriago.blogspot.com/2012/01/incarnate-fun.html">SO MUCH FUN</a> doing this, the winning of bookish prizes would just be icing on the cake . . . creamy, dreamy, extra-scream-y icing.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-82042508244814768852012-01-24T11:29:00.000-08:002012-01-24T11:29:32.583-08:00Ten pages in which to fall in love.<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://cdn.static.ovimg.com/episode/285170.jpg" />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Courage does not always roar. sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "</span><em style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #20124d;">I will try again tomorrow.</span></em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">" - Mary Anne Radmacher.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">You want a great reminder of this sentiment? Read about Eeyore. Yes, he's often portrayed as the storm-cloud cynic of the group, and I suppose when one compares him to a simple bear like Pooh, or a bouncy Tigger, or even a small pig who refuses to give up hope in things, yes, Eeyore certainly seems the pessimist of the group. Except . . . for all his misgivings about the present--lost tail, demolished house, people forgetting his birthday--he never seems to <i>resent</i> his hardships, and furthermore, he doesn't carry his troubles with him into the future. Every day is a new day for Eeyore. His courage stems from waking every morning undefeated, no matted what the day before held (or didn't hold) for him. That's my favorite thing about Eeyore; that and his AWESOME taste in skyscapes.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">So, the ten pages? I have to write/edit/adapt them in the next sixty hours or so, and my courage will have to come into play as a person who's pretty sure these pages will fall far short of her hope for them, but is willing to take a stab at it, anyway. Besides, if they're awful to begin with, I can only make them better, right? And added to my quiet courage voice, I've got wingwomen to adventure along with me, as I will with them. How can I fail with WINGWOMEN?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Ten pages, ten pages I'll write in the next sixty hours, that--when read--soften the reader's heart toward a certain boy, because they see how soft his heart has become regarding a certain girl. There will be star-gazing, Shakespeare references, sharing of sanctuaries, and most of all, falling a little further in love.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><i>Personal Note: The weather here in The Deep South has been rather warm and humid of late. Know why? Because all of the cold in IN. MY. BOOOOOOOOOOOOONEEEEEEEES! Seriously, it's seventy degrees, but I've been cold for two days straight.</i></span></span></div>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-15942320648983489092012-01-12T06:46:00.000-08:002012-01-12T06:46:12.961-08:00Wink Wink, Nudge NudgeFirst off, get thee hence to <a href="http://fakeplasticsouks.blogspot.com/">Fake Plastic Souks</a> and read Alexander McNabb's newest post, titled "How to Write a Book", in which he managed to make a very long, complicated process seem rather simple, if one is just willing to devote themselves to observing what I think of as "the in between times".<br />
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Also, he gives you lots of terms to Google. Honestly, in some ways it's like a freaking college course syllabus.<br />
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Also, also? I have no idea what a is a souk. I'll have to Google it.<br />
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Now, onto my own post. Things are <i>occurring</i> 'round here. Helpful, YAY! sorts of things. Some of them are helping in The Lifting of the Spirits, while others are helpful in the Getting Done of Stuff Put Off For Far Too Long. I know, I know, all vague and completely not truly informative, but sometimes that what you get.<br />
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One thing I'll mention is this . . . well, actually, come to think, it's more akin to two things, but anyway! Last week, Amazing (husband) and I spent a painful amount of time cleaning out and reorganizing our bedroom and closet. I'm surprised we didn't get adopted by some the <a href="https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHFX_enUS432US432&aq=f&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8&q=Gorgs#hl=en&rlz=1C1CHFX_enUS432US432&authuser=0&q=Gorgs+Fraggle+Rock&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=26767l29338l1l29736l13l1l0l12l12l0l93l93l1l12l0&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=vw&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_cp.,cf.osb&fp=76147c48b2eb760f&biw=1024&bih=499">Gorgs</a> due to our massively impressive, possibly sentient <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZAjCrl5zPg">Trash Heap</a> collected afterward. In the ensuing pushing and pulling of What Was Left, I ended up with a very charming new little writing nook. Wall-o-Books to one side, lamp to the other, cushy stool to sit on, and the bed about two and a half feet behind. Very nook-ish, which is great because I'm not that much a fan of wide open spaces. I like cubbies.<br />
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Also included in What Was Left were about three full Early Drafts of The Novel; big, inflated versions no one should ever see, and which I cut to ribbons several times. Guess what? If you go back and scratch out, or find the matching file and strike out or delete all the stuff you've adapted or used elsewhere, it's kind of easy to find those one-liner gems, or that particularly fine turn of phrase you hated to see go, but which you couldn't justify keeping, and sometimes, they're perfect for adding something your current draft lacks. (*pant, pant*--long sentence!)<br />
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See, your mom was right. Keeping your room clean is all kinds of helpful.<br />
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<i>Personal Note: The Gunstringer hates me.</i>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-12009503936960636642011-12-29T15:40:00.000-08:002011-12-29T15:40:45.344-08:00Having nothing to do with writing and everything to do with being human.<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 15px;">The noise and rush of holidays is over for our household, and with the boys off visiting grandmothers and aunts and my husband working for the evening, everything is so very quiet. Quiet enough the silence oppresses; not even a favorite playlist can make a dent in it. I understand why people find themselves inexplicably saddened, especially those who are generally more alone than I am. I myself am in a bit of a funk, to be honest.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15px;">I guess the important thing to remember is that more often than not, loneliness is a lie. It's a very crafty, very convincing lie, definitely, but a lie all the same, because no matter how alone you feel, you aren't a<i>ctually</i> alone. Even complete strangers keep you from being without anyone. Loneliness is the little voice whispering to you about being nothing, about having no worth, no place in the rest of the world.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15px;">Sometimes it's not just hard to ignore loneliness, it's frightening. Testing the lie, trying to break it, could prove it true, or at least that's what we're afraid will happen.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15px;">It's too quiet in my house tonight, and it's a little scary, and a little sad. It's lonely, yes.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15px;">But it's not without.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">I hear you say, "My love is over,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">it's underneath, it's inside, it's in between,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times you doubt Me, when you can't feel,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times that you've questioned 'Is this for real?'</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times you've broken, the times that you mend</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times you hate Me, and the times that you bend.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">Well my love is over, it's underneath,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">it's inside, it's in between,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">these times you're healing</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">and when your heart breaks,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times that you feel like you've fallen from grace.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">The times you're hurting,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times that you heal,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">the times you go hungry, and are tempted to steal.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">In times of confusion and chaos and pain,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">I'm there in your sorrow under the weight of your shame.</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">I'm there through your heartache,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">I'm there in the storm.</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">My love, I will keep you by My power alone.</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">I dont care where you've fallen, where you have been,</span><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">I'll never forsake you.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;" /><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">My love never ends.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">It never ends</span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 15px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">-- "Times", by Tenth Avenue North</span></i></span></span>AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-43624935754632866412011-11-23T18:53:00.001-08:002011-11-23T19:05:58.037-08:00Jumping off the bridge . . .'Cause everyone else is doing it, Ma!<br />
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Just a short little post to wish everyone here in thee U.S. a delicious and enjoyable Thanksgiving meal, and the rest of the globe a very grateful day.<br />
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In my family, we'll be stuffing ourselves silly like most, with the Mom's (myself included) contributing something (I've got the potatoes, because I'm good at them on a regular basis, which cannot be said of most things because I'm a bit of a renegade in the kitchen). After ALL THE FIRST COURSE FOODS are consumed we divvy up into teams to play different board and card games, giving our tummies time to make room for ALL THE DESSERTS, of which there will be many noms.<br />
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It kind of makes my chest swell with pride. I know that's not very Biblical of me, but considering the life I knew before joining my husband's family, well, I give myself a little leeway when it comes to being proud of how beautiful is this group of people.<br />
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<i>Personal Note: My favorite episode of </i>Doctor Who <i>is </i>The Christmas Invasion. Everyone is so amazing in it.AmethystGreyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02557688110602602130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1814712840718636390.post-57113571118939142482011-11-21T17:12:00.001-08:002011-11-21T17:16:56.095-08:00In Case I Haven't Bragged Enough . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am the ladylove of some amazingly handsome men.</div>
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